Captain, My Captain
by Lara Mochi
Summary: Pyrrah Wolfkrone's had her share of a crazy life―abusive mother, mutant siblings, rich father, cooking misshaps―but the most crazy thing of all is her newest employee at her bakery, who goes by the name of Steven Grant Rogers. After he shows up, her life meets a completely new definition of crazy. She thought he was just another boy from Brooklyn. Oh, wasn't that an understatement!
1. Prologue

Prologue: Captain, my Captain

_It only seemed like yesterday I met that handsome blond at that little coffee shop. I would never forget a pair of eyes such as the strikingly blue ones he bore. I couldn't forget that forties-fifties hairstyle that was so popular back then, and donned his face so well._

_ "Steve?!"_

_ His frame reminded me of a boxer, with wide shoulders and a tall, muscular frame. He walked with a certain stride to his step, and talked with a slight accent that came with the territory of Brooklyn, New York. He told me some days, when he did things others couldn't, that he was "Just another boy from Brooklyn"._

_ "Pyrrah?"_

_ He was strong. Powerful. Able to heft up a person like they were a potato sack. Able to crush them like it was no one else's business with both arms, if he wasn't so shy and he actually tried.  
His arms had a reach that out-did most of the people in his line of fighters, and his chest was firm and toned, something to keep warm against and feel safe. Steve was a strategist, able to confuse and compromise with no problem, and his height made him an exceptional person for most things—like taking things from people above him, or getting the cake mix from the top shelf that you could never reach.  
He was an idol and hero too many in all, a leader with low rank but the military could care less about that. I found out that the man that had fed me secrets and lies was actually the hero of World War Two: Captain America. But in 2011, where we need him most, he's here to stay and fight. Today, he saves us._

_ "Captain…?" I breathe at the battered and beat-up sight of Steve Rogers, his eyes lagging and shoulders hunched downwards. The police look between us for only a few moments, but then decide to leave us to talk. "Steven, what's going on?"_

_ I could decipher if he was angry, annoyed, or confused as his eyes flickered to mine, his head rolling into the hand that was placed onto his cheek. He didn't shrug me away, but sighed in relief, lips touching my skin.  
His lips were silk as they were pursed, eyes sliding closed and furrowing in a form of annoyance. Soon, he forced himself to reality to stare down upon me with slight signs of concern and fear._

_ "You smell like your shop," he stated. He looked to be trying to ease himself to the fact that I was really there and in the flesh. "You… were cooking." It's not a question, but more of a fact or statement that I had been cooking. The flour on my hands and face seemed to be answer enough as he glanced down to me again, taking my hands and smelling them. "… B-Banana Nut Bread?" _

_ "… Yeah." It's a strained smile that I give to him, the situation like sparks of electricity, ready to light a hidden fuse. "I… I was making some." Steve adores the Banana Nut Bread, even if he seems embarrassed about eating it, he'd devour some any day. "For when you win."_

_ His face falls. "We could lose. Horribly." Steve tells me._

_ "Can't be that bad," I reply. _

_ Steve levels me with a stare. "Were being invaded by Loki: God of Mischief, and his alien army called the Chitauri," my face doesn't give him a reaction as he pauses. "From Outer Space."_

_ "Steven," I say through forced enthusiasm, my stomach clenching uncomfortably at what's to come. "You'll win," I propose, knowing when he did… I would be here, waiting for him._

_ He gives me a strained grin, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Thanks," he says to me._

_ I smile._

_**"Captain, we could use you about now!"**_

_ The voice is young, another fighter for the cause of living, just like Steve. Steve lifts a hand to the piece on his ear, a new set determination on his tired face, pressing a finger to the piece on his ear.  
I glance to the Vibranium Shield that Steve has, latched onto his left arm that was clenched at his side. It had white, and red stripes, a silver star in the middle of it cocooned by one blue stripe. It bore new scratches across the paint. It would have to get a new coat. It has a sort of unique beauty to it, but not the kind of beauty others would find appealing. It's sort of… mysterious._

_ "On my way." Steve looks down on me again as I move my head up to glimpse his strikingly beautiful eyes. I pat his cheek as his arm drops, tugging down the front of the spandex suit to press a kiss to the top of his nose._

_ "Be safe, Captain, my Captain." I told him as he pulled away to move on to the fighting once more. "And I… I'm sorry for… ignoring you. I just wish you had told me you were Captain America."_

_ "… It's understandable…" Steve murmured, and glanced to me with a broken-like smile. "I should have."_

_ "No. I should have understood." I demanded firmly, grinding my teeth in my self-idiocy. "We've only known each other for a three months, at most. I should… I should've been more understandable, towards you… I'm an idiot."_

_ "…" Steve only smiled as he faced the battle again. "I expect to see Banana Nut Bread when we supposedly win."_

_ "Rogers that."_

_ Steve shot me a look as he bid farewell._

_ "Oi, twit."_

_ I glanced to my sister, Mercedes, who had been trapped in the building with me when the… the Chitauri attacked. Her bright blue eyes only glanced at what was still retreating Steve, and jiggled the object in her hands about as she stood in front of me. I glanced down.  
It was Steve's Head covering, added to the tough material were the smears of dirt and blood that crested it. I held the memento to my chest, and nodded to my younger sibling._

_ "… Let's get the fuck outta here, Merci." I began, and my younger sister nodded in understanding._

_ "Agreed." _

_ Only thinking to where I had met Steve almost three months ago, I think we've made friendly progress since the time he's disappeared and returned. Okay, so figuring out that Steve was Captain America was like a bitch-slap to the face, but I understand why he'd keep that from me._

_ Oh Steve, I remember how naïve you seemed to be back then, like… ninety days ago._


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

"This seat taken?"

"Hm?"

He was a handsome lad, with sharp blue eyes orbs that had been studying the around the area, looking a bit lost with himself or enjoying the free time from doing what he was usually doing at this hour. He donned a popular 40's-50's hairstyle that seemed to be perfect on his face, making him seem younger than he might've looked.  
He sat in a slouched position, as if he was tired or bored, staring across the lot to the rising sun that peeked around the looming buildings, from its point on the horizon. The man seemed confused by my questioning as I cocked my head at him, looking between me and the empty seat as I set my plastic box down next to it.

"Oh," he began to straighten himself on the most likely uncomfortable iron chair. "N-No, go right ahead."

I gave a grateful smile to the man. "Thanks." I took the seat with a dramatized sigh of relief, getting to put strain away from my aching ankles that have had about enough of my trekking through town without a decent pair of sneakers. Walking had its perks for work-out and plain exercise, no matter the element, but it was killing my feet.

"…. Are you alright, ma'am?"

I glanced to the handsome blonde lad, whose brows were slightly furrowed in worry, leveling me with a stare. I nodded to him with a pleasant smile.

"Fine, if my feet weren't dying of aches. Their about to break out in protest." I groaned, and shook my foot loose of any kinks in my ankle. It was also partly difficult when carrying a sixty pound box about, after just getting better from the sudden flu. My brows furrow in question as he leans back in his seat. "What brings you to the quiet part of the city?"

He chortled at me. "This is quiet?" he gestures around at the noises all about: cars honking, people yelling, construction workers… constructing.

"Considering all the other places, yeah, this is pretty quiet." I began with a little sigh, and the man perks a brow at me after a few moments. I scoff. "Humor me, would you?"

This gets him to laugh, and hold up his hands in mock surrender.

"Pyrrah Wolfkrone." I began, holding my hand out across the table, a silly smile still plastered upon my face. His face morphs into one of surprise, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he takes my hand and it's engulfed in his. I grin in surprise.

"S-Steve Rogers, ma'am!" he exclaims to me, giving me a firm handshake and his eyes crinkle at the corners. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine."

It's a nice, quiet moment between us as we sit and enjoy the morning in peace, I ordering a coffee and breathing in the fresh scent of car exhaust in the air. It's a damn good day to be baking in my little bakery.  
Steve seems to be off in his own little world across the way when I look at him, studying the sky for the like of bad weather or to glimpse Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit, who'll take off in a few hours or so when he needs to go to a meeting. It's quite the awesome sight.

"So. Steve." I began to snap him from his daydream, leaning forwards on the table, propping my chin on my elbows as he faces me. "What brings you here? You from Manhattan?"

"No." He answers, looking past to where I had come. "Brooklyn. I… uh… moved from here to the country when I was six. It's been twenty years since I've been here."

I whistled. "So long! I use to live in South Dakota, before moving to D.C., so it's been… a fairly familiar place." I lean back in the chair. "Changed, hasn't it?"

Steve nodded. "It's almost shocking just how much."

"You're shocked!" I paused. "Well okay, I've been here for almost a three years, and you lived in the country. It'll be a bit shocking."

He chuckled, just as the sounds of Tony Stark's suit darted from Stark Industries, overhead us. My mind wandered to Pepper Pots; his-used-to-be-assistant now CEO of Stark Industries is a few-days-every-month usual for my place. She loves the home-made lemon sauce that I put on my muffins, so she'll come around when she needs Tony's Double Chocolate Fudge Cake, or when the free time arises, and she'll talk about work, before ordering some to go.

"It was nice meeting you, Steve." I stand from the chair, shielding my eyes from the blinding sun to look down the next few roads, seeing traffic is mild and there are not many people on the streets. I could be late for opening if I don't leave now. Oh, my customers wouldn't like that. Steve comes back to reality as I stand, stretching my body up to relax my muscles, and picking up the sixty pound box to sit under my chest.

"I gotta get this to the shop, no matter how damn heavy it is. I should really—"

Steve seems to be in a rush as he stands, practically knocking his chair back, reaching to take the box from me. Hands outstretched, I don't complain as he does this, his plaid shirt stretching to the muscles under it, holding the box under Ione arm like it's nothing

"I'll carry it for you." Steve interrupts, his blush replacing the dazed expression from before. He was trying hard to hide his sudden reaction, and I giggled at him, glancing at his taller figure.

"I'm going to have to repay you for this." I mused aloud, as we began to move out, and I picked his brown jacket up on way. I put a hand to my chin in thought, after I fold his coat over my arm. "I wonder what I should give you."

"N-No payment needed, ma'am." Steve stammered, shaking his head. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, please, and leave me with all the sweets as handsome olé you carries the cooking supplies?" I scoff. "You must be joking!"

"Cooking supplies?" Steve seems a bit bewildered at this newfound information, and looks down at the box, turning it about. I roll my eyes, and nudge him with my elbow.

"What else?" I ask. "Just my cooking supplies. I usually have them sent straight to the store, but I was out sick, so I had to bring them from home. Kinda sucks, considering I don't have my truck.

Steve cocked his head "Truck?" He asked. "Where is it?"

"Driving axis blew out. Had to leave it in the shop." I sighed, that old Ford had been my dad's, and it had gotten him from some pretty tight places. After it blew out, well, I'll have to be easier on it. "Oh, I have to handle that thing like a civilized person! It's about ready to die!"

Steve laughed. "Is it now?"

"Hell yeah! It was my dad's—he's had if forever."

Its two more blockers before we reach Manhattan's Marvelous; the name of my shop. Steve stops to look up, almost looking to memorize the building as I unlock the door and enter my shop. I prop the door open, letting the sickeningly rich smells enter the outdoors. Cookies, cakes, fruits, rolls, it's all there as I swing over the counter to unlock the counter-fold, kitchen, and freezerway.

"It... It smells amazing in here!" Steve exclaimed in surprise, eyes darting around the glass container that holds some sweets, and setting the box in the counter to check out my detailed work. I grin and un-lid a container of muffins, handing him a Banana Nut one. "…. A muffin?" Steve begins, blush flooding his cheeks. "T-Thank you!"

"Ah, you know what they say about muffins!" Steve shot me a look of confusion from his place, sitting down upon a stool to watch me.

"What do they say?" he asked.

"Muffins are just ugly cupcakes!"

"Poor muffins."

"Indeed." I smiled, and began packing away the supplies in the box. "But Steve," He looked at me as l wove through the shop and to the door, going to the sign, turning and hearing it swish in one swift movement.

"I wanted to thank you, but this is more of a thanks in itself." I propose, and gesture my shop. "Welcome to Wolfkrone Bakery."


	3. Chapter Two

It was almost a week and a half later when Steve entered the shop, a nervous look upon his features, as he sat down at the bar. I glanced up to him through the doorway, and flashed a grin as he spotted me.

"Ollo, Steve!" I began, casually removing my hands from rolling around the pie crust on the table and patting them together, flour rolling into the air in tuffs of clouds. "It's been a few days. What's eatin' at ya?"

Steve sighed, running hands through blonde tangles and looking a bit irritated with himself at the moment. "It's my first time back in the city after so long… and most of the people I knew are either diseased, or they live in some other country…" he glanced at the Banana Nut Muffin l slid in front of him, a glass of milk to the side as I sat across the counter. He gave me a weak smile. "I just found out a long-time friend was still here… and I don't know how to confront her!"

"Then you've come to the right place!" I began, a smile upon my lips and my hands smacking over his, a cloud of flour into the air once more, dusting his hands. "I just made one of my best cakes. You can surprise her with it!"

Steve leaned back, half of a piece of bread in his mouth as I started to stand up. He waved one of his arms for my most-needed attention, and used his other hand to rip the bread from his mouth.

"I just need a suggestion," he exclaimed, and he scrambled around the table as I went to the kitchen. "I don't know what to do!"

"Well, I'll tell you what to do!" I began. I dusted off my hands and made it to the kitchen counter, where the Red Velvet Cake was cooling, white frosting atop of the big, red cake. It was doubled layered, fresh strawberries in the middle.

"You go to her, and surprise her, with this cake." I packed the cake into the plastic box, sealing it shut. "You explain where you've been, and open the cake." I point at him as I say this. "And you stay with her," I pause as I grab a bow from the box below the counter, and slap it atop the counter. "…While you eat the cake."

"B-But I—" Steve stammered, trying to look back at me as I began pushing him towards the exit.

"Go on, Steve! Don't keep her waiting." I reply, and the bell chimes as he stumbled out. I pop my head out the door as he almost crashes into a young woman on the sidewalk. She snaps at him, and continues on. I don't mention that he has white handprints on his back from my flower. I grin.

"Don't mind some of the women these days; some 'er whores anyways." I say, and gesture him along. "Now go surprise her! She's probably been waiting a long time for you to come back!"

"Pyrrah—" Steve started, his blue eyes were worried, and his stance was a bit rigid. He glanced down at the cake in thought after I level him a playful glare, and his face suddenly flushes with red. I quirk my head to the side as his blue eyes dart to me, face burning and looking embarrassed. With a quick bow of his head, he squeezes his eyes shut and says:

"Thank you! Y-You're really sweet, Pyrrah! Thank you!"

_Cuteness Meter Level: Overload,_ I can't help but think as I watch Steve try to stammer out more words. I blush after a few moments and began laughing as he looked away.

"Hot damn, Steve! You're just too cute!" I tell the blonde lad as he ducks his head at my remark. "Go see her. I'll bet no doubt she'll be happy."

Steve glances at me again. "Thank you," he says

Give or take, I smile. "Always."

"Pyrrah!"

I hardly have time to react as I'm tossed about into the air, my captor spinning me in enthusiastic circles. I clutch the box of homemade Angel Food Cake and some cupcakes tightly until they stop, putting me down on my feet to spin me around.  
Steve has a beaming smile, eyes opened and filled with glee as he stares down upon me. He doesn't look to know what he's doing, between possible kissing me and/or possibly crushing me in more hugs. His grin looks ready to break his face in two.

I grin. "I say she loved to see you?"

"More like your cake idea did the trick!" Steve exclaimed, almost dramatic. "Thank you! She—I—we—"

"Okay, okay, I get it, tall, blonde, and adorable," I chuckled and went down the side walk with him in tow. "I'm glad she liked it."

Steve smiled gleefully, and shoved his hands deeper into his pants pockets, striding alongside me without a care in the world. I couldn't help but giggle at him.

"Oh, you're so happy!" I began, almost close to a laugh. "It's so cute!"

Steve ducked his head, a mumble of something under his breath. I craned my head up to ask what he might have said, but the red on his cheeks was enough to alert me otherwise. I grinned.  
I ducked my head and fell behind slightly to stare at his back. Sure enough, I found that my white handprints were still there, only a small heart had been added to the middle. Whoever he saw must've done that.

"You have flour on your back from this afternoon. Did you know that? It's been there since you left the shop." I said, a giggle in my tone.

"You can't be serious." Steve began, glancing back at me.

"Quite."


	4. Chapter Three

"GAH, STEVEN! MAYDAY! HELP!"

The blonde solider poked his head in at my cries of alarm on this lovely March afternoon, where the kitchen cabinet had decided to plummet from its place on the wall and whack me on the head. Now I was trying to balance it. Most of the previous days' homemade cookie dough sat upon it, and I didn't want the lot of it coming down.  
Steve made a face of mild alarm, and he wiped his hands down the front of his waist apron, coming to my aid as he lifted the entire shelf from the wall and set it on a vacant table. I wince as the stinging pain laced the left side of my head and face. The edge of the nail had gotten me, I know it. I set the Double Chocolate Fudge Cake on the counter, as Steve came to examine my state-of-being.

"It's split open," Steve told me as he lightly pressed a finger to the mark. I gave a low whine of annoyance, and kicked my foot, somewhat. He leads me over to a stool, and absently hefts me atop it, with silent surprise sweeping through me. "First Aid Kit?"

"The bathroom cabinet," I reply, and lean over the glass counter to try and examine the damage, only for maroon drops to hit the surface. The frown deepens as I realize this is probably the fifth time I've hurt myself in the last few hours, most likely caused by sleep deprivation.  
My Ex-husband, Jason Biggs, has recently moved to town, and I'm getting annoyed by the late night visits he likes to have—or tries to have. He is a friendly man, I'll give it to him, but he's a stalker, and doesn't know when to give up.

"Woe is me," I drone in annoyance, and perk up as the front door jingles to signal a customer. I grab a tissue as I stand to walk from the room. The man is turned from me as I enter to stand behind the counter, the little girl tugging at his sleeve to signal my approach.  
"Good afternoon! How may I help you today?" I ask, smiling down to the little girl as my eyes flicker to the man.

Jason faces me a moments later.

_Oh, for fuck's sake, _I sigh at today's form of Karma. I talk about how he annoys me for _one_ moment, and what happens? _This_ happens! But, the girl is new, as I examine her choppy red-black hair and soft, puppy brown eyes.

"Pyrrah?!" Jason exclaimed in his most exaggerated way, coming over to the sign of my bleeding face and slightly annoyed expression. "What happened?"

"Science," I reply, studying the way his eyes flickered slightly to hide the upcoming hurrah of annoying questions. "Do you need something?"

His perplexed face is on after a few moments, black locks falling in front of green eyes. He examines me after some moments of silence. "What?" he says, and shakes himself to reality, with a light-hearted smile. "Oh, uh, I was wondering if you had any Lemon Cakes in store? It's for Cassie's Birthday."

The name clicked. It was the pretty country girl he had left me for, almost four years ago. She had ginger hair, with pretty blue eyes and a golden heart—when she wasn't being a heartless bitch to those she disliked.  
I open the muffin tray to the eyes of the curious girl, handing down a chocolate muffin to her little puppy eyes, that seemed almost pleading. She smiled, a goofy, white-toothed smile, and tipped her head as she took the muffin.

"Yeah, I got some."

I leave the room quickly, almost annoyed that the man even had the balls to talk like he didn't do _anything! _I sighed, and I spotted Steve with the kit as he wiped my blood from the counter. He removed a Band-Aid and an Alcohol Wipe, reaching up to brush the napkin from my face.

"Handy man, aren't you, Steve?" I ask with a smile, and the blonde man only rolls his eyes in response.

"Only if you weren't so prepared, Pyrrah," he said to me, smoothing down the Band-Aid with his thumb. I roll my eyes, as he packs up.

"Before you put that away," I mentioned to the back room. "Can you grab me a Lemon cake? I got a customer."

Steve patted his hands on the apron. "Of course."

"Why, thank you, Handsome," I say to him, and watch as his face flushes slightly, shooting me a glare. I blow a mock-kiss to him, and he whips around, and hurries away.  
I go into the open area, where Jason is watching the little girl sitting by the window, who has another cupcake—Blueberry. He seemed to watch her with an almost reproachful look. I raise my eyebrow at the look, but only shake away an odd feeling that seemed to appear in my chest.  
"That'll be $20.50." I tell the man, who spins at my sudden appearance. A smile graces his face, as he digs through his wallet, and takes out the money.

"Yep," he says. "Here you g—"

I yank his outstretched hands forwards, a sharp glare in my eyes and my voice as menacing as I could make it. "YOU NEED TO LEAVE ME ALONE, JASON WILLIAM BIGGS. I'M GETTING VERY ANNOYED BY YOUR ACTIONS." I snarl, my eyes gleaming. I didn't need his crap at two o'clock in the damn morning, because with this issue, I was becoming an accident on feet. I need sleep if I'm to do anything. Two weeks of this and I've just about had it.  
"I'm fed up with your crap! I've hurt myself five times in the last few hours, and I really don't feel well enough to cut off my finger! You need to leave me alone before I call the police!"

Jason levels me with a glare of his own. "I only want to—"

"If this is about how we were together once-upon-a-dream, then stop. I have you a chance for redemption. A chance for talking, and you done fucked up. So stop STALKING. ME."

"If you'd let me—"

"I'd suggest you do as she says, sir, or you're not going to like the consequences."

Jason jerks back as Steve's voice drift lowly between us. He snaps to attention as I glance to Steve, the man caught between mild annoyance and anger. Probably both. Jason rises to his full height, looking at Steve with an odd expression.

"Steve." I say lightly, a tight smile gracing my face. "Lovely day right?"

_'Steve, I'm hideously angry.'_

"It's alright." Steve answered, with a deeper frown.

_'I hear ya.'_

"Here's your cake, Jason!" I say, as I take the delicacy from Steve, and hand it across the way to Jason, the man taking it without loosing eye-contact with my assistant.

His eyes flick down to me. "Who's this?"

"Why do you care?" I snap. "Good day, Jason."

"I asked you a question!" Jason snapped back.

"And she doesn't feel obliged to answer it!" Steve interrupted, moving me behind his larger frame, almost menacing. "So please, leave, and have a nice day."

From the other side of Steve, was silence. I couldn't hear anything besides the way Jason trumped his feet as he went to the door, the bell jingling as he exited, little clicks following. A sigh escaped my mouth as he left, setting my aching brain on Steve's back.

"Steven Grant Rogers, did I ever tell you how much of a privilege it was to have you about?" I ask him.

"…. No."

"A terrible privilege. But I love it. Would you like to go out for dinner later?"

Steve turned to me with a look upon his face. "What?"

"Would you? Handsome, you just saved me from a world of pain." I tell Steve with a relieved grin, honestly very ecstatic that Jason didn't get the chance to argue and such with me when I was too tired to take it. "Lemme take you to dinner."

Steve gave a strained little smile, and turned to lean against the counter, facing me. "…. Not today." He cocked his head as I pouted at him, my lip sticking out, probably farther than it should, and he couldn't help it but roll his eyes. "You need some sleep."

My eyes drooped. "You know that won't happen. He's gonna come to my place again, and annoy the crap out of me half the night."

The look on Steve's face almost seemed to mirror mine, as he looked down on me. I crossed my arms on the counter, and set my head down, breathing out dramatically.  
I felt his hand lightly touch my head, smoothing down tangled curls softly. I loved it when my dad did the same, though he had huge, sausage fingers, but it felt nice all the same. I rolled into the touch, smiling.

"You… you…" I mumble, at a loss on what to call Steve as he continued his actions, and I began to drum my fingers. "I'm at a loss."

Steve paused. "At what?"

"… You, Steve. It's been three weeks that we've known each other, close to a month, and already you've assisted me in my trek to Manhattan from Brooklyn, became an assistant and help me in my bakery, repaired some broken furniture, and backed-off my Ex-husband. Ya'll got a heart of gold, Steven!"  
I could feel him shift against my arm as he did, his hand resting on my head as he sat there. If he had been thinking of something, I couldn't tell, but I didn't want him to stop rubbing my head, and I shifted into his hands, and the delicate strokes started up again.

A thought popped into my head.

"You wanna go on a trip, Steve?"

"Hm?"

I glanced up to him through tangled bangs, eyes drooped and open to clear emotions of being tired, but happy. He cocked his head at me, looking somewhat confused by my question, and he brushed my bangs back to their respectful places.

"On a trip?" He echoed, and I nodded to him, a smile on my face.

"My pop's called last night, saying he needed some help around the place for a few days. It's outside of New York, near D.C., I believe, on the family estate. It's a beautiful place." I watched as his face started to register what I was asking. "It's sort of like a getaway, for a few days. Care to join me?"

Steve pulled away, dropping down from the counter. "I–I don't–I don't know–"

"Its fine," I cut in momentarily. "I'm not forcing you to go. Dad won't be surprised by our arrival. He's seen enough of my friends to know that. You'll be treated just as they are."

Steve smeared a hand down his face. "No, it's not that… I just…" He glanced up to the roof for a moment. "I'd love to go with you."

I gave a grin. "Then you better head out now and pack." I tell him, taking my apron off and hanging it on the hook besides us. "I have to head out tonight. It's a five hour drive."

Steve nodded, removing the peach one he wore. "Should we… meet up here?"

"Yeah. I'll pick you up."

As I lock up, Steve's lips brushed against my cheek momentarily, and he bypasses me to the door. I whipped my head around to look at him, to ask him, but I could see the red ear-tips and his ducked head, and I decided that I'd nag him about it later.


	5. Chapter Four

"…. Jesus, Steven, you're so quiet! Is something wrong?"

Pyrrah's voice seemed to jerk him from his daze, as she drove along the five-mile road off the highway of the lively city of D.C., the gravel steady and smooth as they went along. The blue of the Ford's dashboard illuminated her features, her green eyes reflecting the light, her skin blue. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, but she glanced at him from the corners.

"You look like you're in pain, Steven."

Steve rubbed a hand across his cheek, giving her a stern, but playful glare. "Please don't call me Steven. It makes me think that I'm in some sort of trouble."

"Well," she started, body leaning flat against her seat. "You sort of are."

Steve faced her after a few moments of silence. "Wait, why am I in trouble?"

Pyrrah sighed, and slowed the truck to a stop in the middle of the road, turning to face Steve as with much annoyance on her face as she could. Maybe Steve couldn't hide the fact that he was nervous about coming to stay with her father at his place. He didn't know how the man acted, how the man was. Pyrrah was okay, she said she brought over friends all the time! But Pyrrah's father knows these friends… and Steve's only been up and about for a little while. His reaction to him could change in a heartbeat. Or worse.

He could recognize Steve.

"Hey, Handsome," Pyrrah began, patting Steve's thigh for his attention. He gave her a look.

"I'd like it if you stopped calling me that."

Pyrrah's face scrunched up adorably. "Calling you what?"

Steve set a hand to his face. "H-Handsome. It's like a nickname for me."

"My nickname for you, Handsome."

Steve sighed.

"Listen, Steve. My Dad is a great guy. He's sorta like me! Only male. And more… macho. Really. You and him are gonna get along fine."

"I hope so." Steve began.

"Well, I know so."

The drive continued on another three miles, Pyrrah's hand still on his thigh in reassurance as she drove, eyes focused on the road. It soon came up to a steel, swing-open fence, with a truck parked to block the way. This made a confused look upon her face.

As she unbuckled from her seat to get out, she paused, squinting her eyes out the window to stare at something in the distance. Steve's eyes followed to lights in front of her father's house, to see at least three trucks parked, and seven men in the yard.

It was a big, green, two-story house in the middle of green, grassy landscape, with a wide-open parking space to fit some cars in. He saw, with his vision that two men were holding a third, but elderly-looking man down on his knees. He was struggling to break free, but to no avail.

"Pyrrah," Steve breathed as he ripped the buckle out of place, reaching for the handle of the door. "Their beating your father!"

"I know." He turned to face her, eyes rigid on the line of anger and body tense, as she jammed the trucks Manuel into reverse. "Hold on to something, Rogers, I'm going in."

The truck sped back at least seven-hundred yards, making Steve press himself into the seat tightly, holding onto the side, window seal handle, as he faced Pyrrah.

"There's a truck their!" Steve exclaimed as she wrenched the car into first gear.

"I know. We're ramming it."

Steve sucked in a breath. "You're insane."

"Hey! That's what the Psychotherapist said! I'm glad you agree."

Steve couldn't tell if she had been joking or not as the car jerked into a go, the woman smashing the gears onto place as the truck went on. As they bore closer and closer, Pyrrah's hand was suddenly on his thigh, and he grabbed it.

He could feel the impact in his limbs as it hit the fence, a harsh vibration that went through him from the truck. They jerked in their seats as the fence hit the truck, the tires spinning. Pyrrah wrenched her hand back, and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, stomping on the gas pedal.

They sped towards the scene before Pyrrah stomped on the brakes, gravel and dirt spraying the air as it went. The men around the man lifted their arms to shield their faces, and the car stopped skidding a moment later.

Steve and Pyrrah were out of the truck immediately, Steve still a bit shaken, but that was from the high adrenaline pump, if anything. Pyrrah stood like steel next to him, her teeth bared and wings on her back showing, her head slightly bowed.

"HOW DARE YOU." Pyrrah demanded, almost ready to pounce like a cat at these men holding her Dad hostage and beaten like he was. "YOU BETTER LET HIM GO."

"Or what?" One of the men began, a raised eyebrow to them. "You gonna send your lapdog to get us?"

Steve squinted at the man in annoyance, as the man's eyes were broadly looking to him as if Steve couldn't handle himself against these guys. Which he could, if they knew his true status.

"Looky here, little missus," one of the older men began to her, hands up in reassurance. "We're only 'ere to teach this man a lesson. If you don't mind—"

"If ya'll don't mind, you sorry sack of fuckin' sons of bitches, that man is my Father!" Pyrrah cut in, only taking a few steps to be face-to-face to the man. "You wanna explain ta me why yer sorry ass is here?"

Steve was mildly surprised to hear she had an accent close to a country woman, if living out here had given her it or if it came from her parents.

Two men were suddenly on him, holding his arms down and behind him in a half hold, forcing him (okay, so he sort of dropped on purpose) to his knees. And he let them, with only mild struggling that a regular man would have. They old man that Pyrrah was in front of pursed his lips on thought, lifting a hand to scratch at his head.

"Well, then that changes everything, little missus!"

The slap was loud as it resounded on Pyrrah's cheek, the girl's face tipped away from him as she collapsed to one knee. Steve almost jerked out of their grip, if Pyrrah hadn't of held up a hand to stop the man.

"Well, sorry about that. Which one 'er you? Samantha? Mercedes? …. No, you're Pyrrah! I remember you."

"Yeah," she spat, the saliva from her mouth tainted in red. "Nice ta see ya too, George. How are ya?"

"'M fine, little missus, but the same can't be said for your folk."

Pyrrah stood again, glaring fiercely at the man that had smacked her, the two above Steve snickering at the sight. It made him flare with anger as he wanted to stand and give these men a message with his fists. Oh, so very badly.

But, as he put his trust in Pyrrah over these past few weeks, she would do the same for him, and he would wait for their odd connection that they have for each other. But if it didn't happen soon, he'd take matters into his own hands.

"… And why is that, George?" Pyrrah spat.

"'Cause your Pa here owes us, hon! He's owed us a lot, and we won't be leavin' until we have it."

There was a pause, as Pyrrah let put a sigh.

"Lovely evenin', right, Handsome?"

Steve tipped his head up to Pyrrah, as she rubbed at her eyes, a hand placed at her hip as she shook her head, brown locks tumbling from their place. Steve shook his head.

"You call this good?" Steve asked her.

"Not really, but it's more exciting than most. And here I was thinkin' I was gonna have a lovely time with my Pa.

"And now?"

She sighed. Again. "Now we got these fuck-nuggets!"

Steve whipped his arms free with little-to-no-effort, bringing them up and smashing their heads to Pyrrah's truck behind him, leaving behind two indents and a sickening crunching noise. He rose, as Pyrrah smashed a fist into George's nose almost instantaneously, and whipped around to the two advancing men that were coming next.

Steve tossed one face-first into the dirt, Pyrrah stomping on his temple to knock him unconscious, and Steve then sent the second flying with a kick to the side, the man rolling off the top of the truck and landing on the other side with an 'Oof!'

All other men scattered to a vacant truck, and immediately left the premises. Pyrrah crouched to her father, looking worse for wear than the woman would have liked. Steve stood off the left of her, his eyes trained on the men who were unmoving on the ground.

"Dad, how long have these men been harassing you?" Pyrrah asked as she stood him up, and steadied him on his feet.

"Few weeks now, darlin'." He answered, rubbing at the bruise forming at his jaw. "That's why I asked ya ta bring one of yer bigger fellas." He gave a grateful nod over to Steve, who nodded back.

"… Because that makes total sense." Pyrrah began, and craned her dads face around. His aged face had a few deep cuts and purple bruises, green eyes studying the face of his worried daughter, a slight smile on his face. "Steve? How do you feel like doing one more job?"

Steve glanced at Pyrrah. "What's that?"

"Hog-tie 'em."


End file.
